


hand to glove to cuff

by wvwv



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wvwv/pseuds/wvwv
Summary: Camilla goes through the motions of love without feeling it, but she's been doing that for twelve years.
Relationships: Camilla Hect/Dulcinea Septimus, Dulcinea Septimus/Palamedes Sextus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	hand to glove to cuff

**Author's Note:**

> AKA Camilla and Dulcinea make out in a garden, but in the least sexy way possible.
> 
> Title from the song Quinine by Dessa. The song itself doesn't actually have anything to do with this, I was just listening to it while scrambling for a title.

Camilla licked the blood off her teeth and wondered, yet again, just what the fuck she thought she was doing.

Dulcinea wiped her wrist across her mouth, and it came away red.

“Terribly sorry about that.” She smiled up at Camilla from where she was sprawled across her favourite daybed, looking like nearly hacking up a lung into Camilla’s mouth was a minor embarrassment—that she wasn’t at all sorry about—and not a horrifying fucking nightmare.

Though to be honest, this whole thing was a nightmare, and Camilla wasn’t exactly sure how she’d gotten to this point. Camilla had been heading for the kitchens of Canaan House to fetch breakfast for herself and Palamedes, since he couldn't bear to be separated from his notes for long enough to go down to the kitchens to eat there. From her habitual haunt in the dilapidated gardens, Dulcinea had called out for Camilla as she walked past, and Camilla had responded.

Although the true beginning of this mess was Palamedes, twelve years ago, running up to her with fire in his eyes and flimsy in his hand and big plans for research into hereditary blood diseases.

Camilla spat the mouthful of blood onto the ground and leaned back down to kiss her again, arms braced on either side of Dulcinea’s shoulders without touching her, one knee propped awkwardly against the daybed. Dulcinea had no such aversion to touch, winding her thin arms around Camilla’s neck and scraping her fingers across her scalp where they tangled into her hair.

Everything about the reality of Dulcinea was alien: her pale, brittle fingers, the soft rasp of her breath as it caught in her throat, the way each smile twisted just a bit too sharply at the corners. It was such a strange contrast to the familiarity Camilla had with the idea of Dulcinea.

Camilla had spent twelve years studying Dulcinea’s letters, memorising Dulcinea’s interests, researching Dulcinea’s illness, alongside Palamedes. Camilla didn’t love Dulcinea; she didn’t even particularly like her, and certainly didn’t understand what inspired Palamedes to devote so much of himself to her. Nevertheless, her allegiance to Palamedes mandated that she stand by and assist him as he fell all over a strange, dying woman.

“Dulcinea was feeling better last week and was able to walk around the gardens at the Seventh House”, “Dulcinea prefers to wear turquoise because she says it brings out her eyes”, “Dulcinea read the notes I sent her on thanergy use in chronic or terminally ill necromancers, and she just sent back her analysis” were a constant thrum in the backdrop of Camilla’s life. Dulcinea’s preference for the scent of orange blossoms over roses elevated to scripture, the mundane breathed to life as though from Palamedes’ own thalergy.

Camilla had come to anticipate meeting Dulcinea in the flesh following the summons from the Emperor, as if once she saw her, all the tidbits of information she had accumulated over the years from the letters would finally form into a shape that Camilla could – not love, but understand why someone would love. However, upon seeing the Seventh House heir when their ship first docked, Camilla felt nothing.

Instead, it seemed to be the Ninth cavalier, of all people, that had immediately become enraptured, and Camilla remained in the dark. Camilla could barely even reconcile Dulcinea’s myriad letters with the woman in the flesh. Letter-Dulcinea had seemed sweeter and more good-natured, but in person, while she may talk the part, her smiles were just a bit too knowing. It made her more intriguing to Camilla, if significantly less trustworthy around her hopeless sap of a necromancer.

Ultimately, this bizarre progression in their complete lack of a relationship managed to feel strangely natural, given the amount of her life Camilla had devoted to thinking about Dulcinea, helping Palamedes write to her, and researching her disease.

Camilla untangled her leg from a turquoise frill of Dulcinea’s dress, automatically recognizing it as her favourite colour. It was petty, but Camilla couldn’t help but note that it didn’t match the shade of her eyes.

“I have to say, I certainly didn’t expect you to agree to this, Camilla the Sixth,” Dulcinea said slyly, chest heaving from the effort of kissing Camilla and breathing through her tattered lungs at the same time.

Camilla grunted, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t expect it out of herself, either.

“I find it difficult to get a read on you. Both of you in the Sixth House seem very intense.” Dulcinea was staring at her with a calculating look Camilla couldn’t decipher.

Camilla didn’t respond. She didn’t know what angle Dulcinea was going for here. She knew as well as Camilla why the Sixth House was ‘intense’ around her.

Dulcinea broke into bright giggling, and then her breath was really wheezing as her body protested the exertion. “Goodness, but this round of cavs is certainly reticent! How am I supposed to tease information out of you if you won’t say anything?”

Overall, that was an incorrect assessment of the cavaliers, but between Dulcinea’s own cavalier primary, the variably vowed-silent Ninth nun who stuck closer to Dulcinea than to her own necromancer, and now, apparently, Camilla herself, she supposed Dulcinea had a point.

However, if Dulcinea had truly intended to get information out of the Sixth House, she was an idiot to pass up the obvious choice of simply asking Palamedes whatever she wanted to know. If she was trying to avoid awkwardness, making out with Camilla instead of talking to Palamedes was a piss poor strategy.

When Dulcinea had first kissed her, Camilla had asked what she wanted from her, had asked why her and not Gideon, had _not_ asked why not Palamedes.

Dulcinea had laughed, as she did in response to every situation that she found herself in. “Forgive me for being so forward,” she’d said, after extracting her tongue from Camilla’s mouth, “but I chose you because you don’t like me. I thought we could have a little fun without any hurt feelings or further expectations. After all, it’s hard to be interested in a future when you’re one good cough away from being someone else’s skeleton to raise. Besides, it’s good to relax in these stressful times.” She said this while stretching out invitingly on the same daybed she’d been draping herself over practically since they’d arrived.

Now, Dulcinea sputtered again into Camilla’s mouth, and Camilla recoiled at the overpowering copper taste, stomach roiling.

A bead of Dulcinea’s blood dripped down the side of Camilla’s mouth and she wiped it away, accidentally acquiring a bright red stain on her grey sleeve. Abruptly, she wondered what the hell she was going to say to Palamedes back in their room, when he asked where she’d been and whose blood that was.

She knew he’d forgive her, no matter how she explained herself. She knew he’d accept it if she told him that she’d just gone too far in her search to understand—Dulcinea, Palamedes’ feelings, Camilla’s own feelings. She knew equally that, had their positions been reversed, Palamedes would never have done this.

It was the certainty that Palamedes wouldn’t be angry with her, wouldn’t show his disappointment, that was the final straw.

Camilla stood up, turned around, walked away without looking back at Dulcinea, still recovering form her latest coughing fit.

She nearly ran into Protesilaus, stoically carrying tea and a towel—presumably for the blood—for Dulcinea, in the doorway to the gardens. Out of everyone she expected to run into here, Dulcinea’s own cavalier was somehow last on the list.

He showed no reaction as she brushed past him. 

Behind her, Dulcinea started to laugh.


End file.
